Child of the Prophecy (62 page)

The season passed, with rain and gale and shivering nights, and the closer the spring came, the clearer the task appeared in my mind; the clearer and simpler. To satisfy my grandmother I must be there at the last, at the point when the allies were about to defeat their enemy.

Once there, I was supposed to take whatever action was necessary to ensure the victory did not take place. One could turn an army into toads, I thought, though the use of that charm on such a massive scale was probably beyond my abilities. Or one could do it the simple way, as she had suggested. One could kill the child of the prophecy. There was no doubt whatever that without him the venture could not succeed, even if he were lost at the very point of victory. A prophecy was a prophecy, after all, and every one of them depended on it. Why else was it Johnny who would lead this venture, instead of Sean of Sevenwaters, or a chieftain of the Ui Neill, or indeed Bran of Harrowfield, who seemed the kind of man who had never lost a fight in his life? Why not that wealthy and influential leader, Eamonn of Glencarnagh? But this would be no ordinary campaign, no mere territorial dispute, swiftly settled. It was an old struggle, steeped in mystery, heavy with symbolism. They had failed against the Britons in the past because they had not had Johnny. They could conquer only when the child was there to lead. Everyone knew that. Lose the child, and they would lose their heart and their hope.

Very well, then. I must appear to go along with my grandmother's plan until the last moment. I would wear the amulet until the very end; that way she would believe me still her creature. Then, when it came to it, instead of doing her will I must defy her; I must stand between her and Johnny, so he could win his victory and save the Islands. I supposed she would punish me. If she killed me, perhaps it was no more than I deserved, for the bad things I had done.

I went over it in my head, my quill poised motionless above the parchment as I focused my mind on how it must be. The battle would be on the Islands; the Islands were near to that very land of Norsemen and tailless cats. A long journey. A long way from Kerry and from O'Flaherty's farm in Ceann na Mara. So much the better. Ships must travel there. There must surely be some stopping place on the way, some safe harbor where the Chief's forces might join with those of Sean and Eamonn and the Ui Neill, and ready themselves for the final onslaught. Then there was a swim; a perilous swim from some place they called the Needle, to sink the Britons' fleet. A masterstroke, if they managed it. All hinged on that. Then, I supposed, they would simply go across in their curraghs, and land, and slaughter the opposition. It was most certainly not the kind of venture on

which men took a young female cousin. In order to be there, I would need another transformation. No moths. Not this time. No help, either; my Fomhoire friends appeared to have deserted me. Still, I could do it. I would choose another form for myself, and I would accompany the Chief's mission, and then . . . and then I would have to change back again, and for a time I would be too weak to use the craft. That was the big flaw in my plan. I had no idea whatever how long such a battle might last; how well armed the Britons, how difficult the terrain, what effect the loss of their fleet might have on the enemy's resolve. I did not know how long my grandmother would be prepared to watch, and wait for me to act. I would need to change back and then hide myself until I regained my strength. Johnny could win his battle by himself, I could see that in his eyes. But at the end my grandmother would come, and he would need me; and without the craft I was nothing.

They were beginning to test their skills on the sea, storms or no storms. There were no half-made ships in shelters now, but craft of many kinds hauled up on the narrow strip of beach or at anchor in the bay. We saw less and less of the menfolk; I learned that from now until the summer, none would visit Inis Eala to learn the crafts of war. All resources were for the campaign. All men worked for that purpose and each had his part to play in it. There were crossings to the mainland any day the sea allowed it, and much movement of men and supplies.

Sometimes, when it wasn't raining, Coll and I would sit on the clifftop above the bay and watch them. For him it made a welcome change from the discipline of writing, with which he struggled despite his quick intelligence. For me, it was good to be out-of-doors and feel the wind in my hair. Gull had left the responsibilities of the infirmary to Liadan, and now worked all day on the boats. His dark figure could be seen moving nimbly about the decks, and his voice came up to us on the wind, issuing curt orders. They appeared to be rehearsing a particular maneuver, out beyond the northern tip of the promontory where the tide flowed swift between rocky islets. The small curragh, rowed by six men, was held just beyond the clutching swirl of the current, oars used with great skill to keep it motionless there until an order was given, and they let the tide carry them through the gap and out into open water. Again and again they practiced that, incoming and outgoing, and once I saw men in the freezing water, swimming, and others hauling them up into the boat. Even at such a distance I identified Johnny.

"Your brother's a strong swimmer," I observed, hugging my shawl around me against the wind.

"So am I," responded Coll immediately. "When I'm bigger I'll be better than him. I'll swim all the way to the mainland. Nobody's ever done that."

I was reminded sharply of Eilis. Perhaps this sort of confidence

ran in families.

"Can you swim?" Coll asked.

I shook my head. "I don't like the water much."

"I'll teach you, if you like. In the summer. If you want to." I could tell from his tone that this was a gesture of extreme generosity.

"Thank you," I said gravely. "Maybe. I'm not sure it's something I could learn."

"Everyone can learn," Coll said. "It's easy."

Like horse riding, I thought.

"You'll need to be able to swim if you're going to live here," he observed.

"I shouldn't think I am. Not after the summer."

"That's not what Johnny said. He said you'd wed one of the lads, probably Corentin because he's clever and speaks three languages, but maybe Gareth because he's a nice, patient fellow, and that you'd stay here on the island. That's what he said. But you don't need to marry them if you don't want to," he added hastily, no doubt reading my bemused expression.

I was saved from response by the unexpected arrival of the Chief, approaching us from the direction of the practice yard.

"Coll! I've an errand for you, son. Go down to the jetty and wait for Gull to come in. Let him know his supplies have arrived at the settlement. He'll want to send someone across with a bigger boat."

"Yes, Chief." There was a look of pride on Coil's face as he scampered away down the track, fleet-footed as a little goat. I made to get up and go, but the Chief stopped me, and then surprised me by sitting down on the rocks by my side, gazing out over the bay. There was silence for a while, a silence in which I realized he had sent Coll away for just this purpose.

"Your men will be well prepared for the campaign," I observed eventually. "Gull drills them hard in seamanship."

"Johnny's men, not mine," the Chief said mildly. "Harrowfield plays no part in this; it has always stood outside the feud. You're right about Gull. His skills with small craft are unsurpassed." His gray eyes were intent on that curragh poised on the flow between the smaller islands. "Each one of these men is the best at what he does."

"And yet, it seems astonishing that a man with such crippled hands can do so much. That must take remarkable strength of will."

"Indeed."

He sounded friendly enough. I thought I might venture another question.

"How did he—how did Gull come by such an injury, to lose fingers from both hands?"

The Chief's tight mouth stretched in an unpleasant sort of smile. "A man named Eamonn sliced them off with a sharp knife," he said quietly.

I froze. "What?" I whispered.

"It was done in an attempt to get information from me, rather than Gull. Eamonn wished to see us both beg for mercy before he finished us off. Liadan would not tell you this, and nor would Gull himself. My wife promised Eamonn her silence, and Gull has put these things behind him. But some promises, I think, are meant to be broken. It's best that you know this. The man you thought to marry is a butcher, Fainne. His hands reek of blood and betrayal. The full tale will never be told, I think; few know it. You're well away from him, and should stay away."

"But—" I was about to say, But he seems a good man, an honorable man. I was about to say, He is a respected chieftain, and your son's ally. But I recalled what Eamonn had said about the Painted Man, and I remembered the light in his eyes as he realized I could give him his vengeance, and I held my tongue.

"If your father wants a good marriage for you," the Chief went on. still gazing down at the point, where men now slipped quietly over the side of the curragh into the icy water as others strained to hold it steady, "he need look no further than Inis Eala. I'd be surprised if Ciaran cared much for such trappings as wealth, respectability or great landholdings. He'd want a good man for you, a steady sort of man, and there are plenty to choose from here. You'll have offers. Not yet, of course; they've all been told, no dalliance of that kind until after the summer, and they obey the rules. But later, there'll be the opportunity. And there's work for you here. The community is lacking in scholars."

"You speak of my father as if you knew him," I said in surprise.

"I met him once. And your mother. A long time ago, well before you were born."

"W—would you tell me about it?"

"Not all can be told. I was impressed by Ciaran. A young man of considerable strength; of depths I could only guess at. A man driven by strong passions, I think; love, anger, determination. We met under difficult circumstances."

"And my mother?"

He thought for a little before he replied. His hand rested still on the rock beside him; the swirling, complex pattern flowed across his skin like an ancient, cryptic language. "Again, the circumstances were—unusual. She was not at all like her sister."

"You mean," I said bitterly, "she was weak, stupid and selfish? That beauty was her only good quality?"

The Chief turned his head toward me. His eyes were very grave; they seemed to read me without judgment. "Everyone has something unique to offer," he said. "In some, that quality may be harder to find. I would never dismiss a man or woman thus, Fainne. Your mother was in severe distress when we undertook the task of bringing her to safety. She was indeed beautiful, a loveliness that is the stuff of tales. She was also confused, hurt and frightened, and the appearance of Gull and myself did little to reassure her. Niamh was not in our care long. Ciaran made sure of that. But I can tell you three things with complete truth. Your mother was a very courageous woman. One who goes doggedly on when frightened near out of her wits shows greater bravery than the warrior who charges into battle without thinking of the odds. She loved Ciaran deeply. There was a bond between them that endured, despite all. A bond as strong as—" He broke off.

"As strong as that between Liadan and yourself?" I ventured softly.

He gave a nod.

"What was the third thing?" I asked.

"This may distress you. We heard she killed herself. I am a sound judge of men, Fainne, and of women. I saw the look in your mother's eyes when she began to realize that she was at last safe, and that Cia-ran would come for her. It was not the look of a woman who would throw away the unexpected gift of a second chance. Whoever told you she took her own life, lied to you."

"My father believed it," I said, my voice shaking. "How could he be wrong?"

"This upsets you. I regret that. But you should consider the possibilities. Had such a death occurred in my own home, I should have investigated thoroughly. A fall from a cliff, unwitnessed, could be many things. Suicide, certainly. An accident. Or murder."

"Murder! How could that be? There was nobody there but the three of us, and I was only an infant. You're not suggesting—"

"Indeed, no. Your mother was Ciaran's most priceless treasure. Still, you should be aware of my doubts. I do not believe she would ever willingly have left him; or that she would have abandoned you."

I sat quiet, staring out to sea as my head seemed to fill with the tears of an ancient grief.